


More Tuneable Than Lark

by bold_seer



Category: The Favourite (2018)
Genre: Antagonism, Cousins, F/F, Ficlet, Innuendo, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:39:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: “But you were never very sweet. Were you?”





	More Tuneable Than Lark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HotUtilitarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotUtilitarian/gifts).



“Sweet Abigail,” says Sarah. Full of scorn, words dripping enmity, the venom on her lips. Lady Sarah, a viper to the last. “But you were never very sweet. Were you?”

Honey poison, a bee that stings. Fatal, for some.

They _are_ family. Of a kind.

In the candlelight, the scar, her bruised face form an ugly, frightful sight. The walking corpse of a woman returned. Her idea of Hell - abominable, but transient; Abigail has a story or two to tell. A reminder that her hopes truly are dead.

For a moment, Abigail - the monster of the story, not the heroine - is almost sorry. About the evidence.

“Dear cousin,” she greets her, overflowing delight. “We feared, dearly departed.” For someone so young and comely, she seems at times tarnished by something ugly. Innocently, she adds, “Of course, you aren’t held in such dear regard anymore. Are you?”

Not by Anne.

Her impulsive, reckless side takes over. The side that frequently got her into trouble, scars on her back. She lifts up her skirts a little, as she might have with Masham. Temptress in the woods turned seductress at court. Onwards. “Would you like to try it?”

It’s a jest. A dare. Of course, it’s possible Lady Sarah harbours these desires. Possible, as enthusiastic as she was with Anne. There exists even the possibility, perhaps still undetermined, that Abigail herself does.

Oh, she would never divulge that.

It’s equally likely she has teeth. “The taste of hatred?” Sarah’s expression twists like someone who’s swallowed a lemon. No pineapple to sweeten that, poorly masked disbelief and rage. “Your cunt is attached to your person.”

“Of service. You work your way -” Abigail lifts a finger. “Up.”

It’s also the closest Lady Sarah can get to the Queen. She has ruled, ruled Anne. Now her will, her tongue, her finger in every cake reach Her Majesty’s chambers through Abigail. Which is to say, they don’t. The innermost parts, the carefully guarded secrets of the palace locked away from the woman who once ran the kingdom. The country. Perhaps not altogether in her own interest. Unlike Abigail, then, only ever on her own side.

She shudders with easy pleasure. Her face flushed, appetite sated. Awakened. Growing. But all of that, from the sparks of satisfaction in her body to the potential humiliation of a rival, is irrelevant. As irrelevant as the Duchess of Marlborough has come to be.

Sarah studies her cheeks, neck, bosom, but Abigail guards her plans better than that. Not all of them depend on her looks. “Abigail. So certain you’ve worked it all out. She’ll see through you, and then you will be caught.”

“A rabbit in a cage.” It slips out. Her thoughts leap to Anne’s plump, soft, oblivious children. Merrily hopping along, as plump and soft and oblivious as Anne herself. Abigail has never been that helpless, not when she looked and acted it. If she was, that girl is long gone. The sacrificial lamb replaced by some other creature. The wolf that ate it? That they kept calling for. Harley, the peacock, and Masham, a cuckoo. Lady Sarah. Even Anne.

Abigail, a mare that kicks back.

“Or a prize duck,” Sarah suggests, a mean glint in her eyes. Sharp wit, sharp tongue, sharp silver knives. “On a leash.”

Quack.

Abigail adjusts her skirts and smiles. Sets up the shot, anticipating the blood splatters. It’s a definite win. “My dear, they outlast the pigeons. By far.”

Has victory ever tasted sweeter than the dish on her plate?


End file.
